


Scars of Yesterday, Scars of Tomorrow

by TheGrammarHawk



Series: Hawk's Ferdibert Week 2019 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Ferdibert Week 2019, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Past Child Abuse, Post-Time Skip, Scars, Swearing, War, it's war no one's having a good time but these kids are trying, wound description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: After a battle goes poorly, Ferdinand and Hubert learn about each other's scars.Ferdibert Week 2019 Day 4: Soulmates/Reincarnation/Scars/War
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Hawk's Ferdibert Week 2019 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558714
Comments: 5
Kudos: 178
Collections: Ferdibert Ship Week 2019





	Scars of Yesterday, Scars of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW this is another longer one. Back on my angst train babey,,, it was only a matter of time.
> 
> Also honestly I'm surprised I've kept up so far bc i have so MUCH going on and finals are so soon aaaa

The battle had gone beyond poorly. Byleth had taken a hard blow to the head early on, leaving him down and out and carried off the battlefield to make sure he didn’t get any more serious injury.

By now, most of the strike force were aware that their once-professor had some strange ability that changed the flow of time. Without that safety net, they should have become less reckless, more cautious than ever.

The fight did not allow such niceties. Petra had been shot off her pegasus, leaving her prone on the ground until Dorothea could get to her to heal her. Even after that, she had sustained grievous wounds, Dorothea herself ending up more battered than usual. Shamir had gotten hit in the leg pretty badly with an axe, taking her out of the fight. Despite Hubert’s watchful eye, even Edelgard had taken a few tough hits.

Caspar had seemed to have forgotten that there were no take backs in this skirmish, and while Linhardt managed to shadow him and heal him as often as he could, Caspar still got to the point of needing far more intensive healing.

Linhardt had stopped in order to do just that and had nearly finished when the cavalier took advantage of the situation, running their lance through his back. Encircled by enemies, the two of them should have died.

Hubert had acted without thinking, launching a dark miasma to slay the offender. In return? Now there was an arrow embedded in his palm, half out the other side, making magic near useless for that hand to perform without risk of intense pain.

He had turned to smite his attacker with his uninjured hand but had no need. Already making quick work of the kill from atop his steed was Ferdinand, who merely gave him a quick _“Retreat before you’re entirely defenseless!”_ before riding off to Caspar and Linhardt.

It was a valid and rational order; even Hubert did not enjoy pushing his luck in matters like this without Byleth to ensure things went well. Bernadetta, who had stayed out of this battle to make certain she could get the injured back to camp safely, was near him within moments, hand out and shaking to help pull him onto her horse.

He grabbed her hand in return, cradling his other close to his chest as he got on behind her. “You should have stopped for Caspar and Linhardt instead, they’re in far greater need of medics than me.”

“I, I was going to, but Ferdinand-”

Sure enough, he glanced behind them, seeing Ferdinand fighting off those who remained from truly killing Linhardt and Caspar. He had already helped Caspar onto the back of his horse, since he was still awake and could at least hold on, and had turned to stab another enemy unit on foot.

The battlefield was absolutely no place to be enamored yet Hubert could not help himself. Blood was splattered on Ferdinand’s cheek, though whose Hubert did not know, and his fiery mane was bundled up into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He was covered in gore and dirt, his face uncharacteristically vicious, no smile in sight, and yet he was still the most beautiful thing Hubert had ever seen.

The only thing Hubert could do at this distance was watch him, having exhausted his long-rang spells.

He certainly couldn’t react when a Kingdom mage came closer, out from the brush, and sent a Thoron spell straight at Linhardt’s prone form.

But Ferdinand could.

And Ferdinand did.

Ferdinand threw himself between the two, letting the blistering magic slam into his back instead of Linhardt. Even from this length away, Hubert’s eyes widened as he saw Ferdinand spasm from the hit, the electricity and his armor mixing to make what was surely near to a torture chamber. Hubert could practically feel his heart stop, and he hadn’t been the one electrocuted.

He only found himself able to breathe when Ferdinand turned on his heel, grimacing, to land his lance right in the mage’s heart. Leaving the weapon behind, he swooped Linhardt into his arms as carefully as he could in his hurry and mounted his horse, unsteady as he was.

It was all Hubert could do to pray to a goddess he didn’t believe in that those three would make it back without further trouble.

***

Hubert didn’t get the chance to see him again until the next day. He had been too busy attending to Edelgard’s frenzied needs after the disastrous battle, and even if he had been free, the infirmary was a zoo. He himself had been treated in the hallway, not even with any faith magic. A very meek priest had dressed his hand’s wound, administering a vulnerary and bandaging it only when she had gone through the _agonizing_ process of pushing the arrow through cleanly. As soon as the gauze was tied she had run back into the infirmary, far graver conditions to attend to as Manuela did her best without Dorothea or Linhardt as backup.

Hopefully Dorothea would be able to assist her sooner rather than later. Of those admitted, she, Petra, and Caspar were most likely to be alright to recover on their own, while Shamir had gotten similar treatment he had, and wouldn’t be taking up any of Manuela’s time. Byleth and Linhardt were the worst of the bunch, Hubert knew that for certain, but Bernadetta hadn’t informed him of any developments regarding Ferdinand other than the fact that he had fainted as soon as he had gotten Caspar and Linhardt to safety.

It certainly wasn’t the most favorable thing to hear, but at least he hadn’t died. That was all any of them ever dared to desire with the war happening: no, the one you love isn’t dead yet.

It still had Hubert beyond surprised when he returned to his dormitory after checking on how his spy channels were working, certainly not to make sure the other members of the strike force were doing alright after a long day and no news, to see Ferdinand there, shirtless, sitting on his bed as if that was where he had any business being.

Hubert watched for a moment, shutting his door slowly as he observed the younger man. There were uncharacteristic bags under his eyes, most of his upper body covered with bandages hiding his musculature and freckles, and a hairbrush in hand as he attempted, in no small amount of pain it seemed, to tame his hair.

Breathless, Hubert approached him, running his fingertips up along his jaw before they came to rest where his hairline began, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“What the Ailell are you doing, up and about? I was quite certain you would not yet be discharged.”

“I decided to leave. Manuela is wonderful, but there is only so much she can do. It would be for the best if she focused her attention on the others. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. After all, I have full use of my legs, and though perhaps unsteady, my hands are whole.”

At that, he glanced down toward Hubert’s own hands, lips drawing together before he looked back up. His voice was softer now, somehow gentler, a tone Hubert recognized was more often in use around Bernadetta, never _him_.

“Hubert… I… your hand,” he finally supplied, hesitant, “did the… did the arrow do that?”

Hubert nearly flinched as Ferdinand’s warm fingers cautiously touched his cold, blackened ones. He had forgotten that he had no glove upon the injured hand – a grave error, he could only hope no one else had noticed. He did not want their incessant _questions_.

Ferdinand’s hand was in no way flawless. Tanned and freckled along his knuckles, it still was tough and calloused from years and years of weaponry and reins. Compared to Hubert’s, however, a sickly gray tone of flesh with black, spiderwebbing veins, it looked as pure as possible.

Ferdinand was going to find out at some point with how their relationship had progressed. Hubert supposed there was no harm now.

“The… aftereffects of prolonged dark magic. The hands of faith users pale over time. Those who use black reason may succumb to blistered fingers… _dark_ reason will deaden your flesh. Usually scars like these only happen if the mage is careless, or… simply overexerts themselves too often. It hardly matters.”

“It matters enough if you find yourself so impacted that you hide them behind your gloves all the time.”

Closing his eyes, Hubert changed the subject. “Allow me to brush your hair out. I can do that much. You needn’t strain yourself lest you end up making more work for Manuela like you so clearly do not wish to do.”

Ferdinand relented, handing the grooming tool over with little fanfare. “If… If it will not harm you, I would much appreciate if you braided it for the night. I need to change these bandages before I sleep, and I would rather not risk my hair matting with leftover blood.”

“As you wish, Ferdinand. I am fine. Brushing and braiding will bring about no pain,” he lied. “In return, I ask only that you inform me of the extent of your own suffering. Are you quite alright?”

After all, Hubert believed Ferdinand to be recovered as he had said just as much as Ferdinand believed Hubert to be honest about his own hurting.

Even so, Ferdinand gave in, sighing slightly as Hubert set to work. “I only made it out of the battle because of adrenaline. I blacked out as soon as we returned.”

“You shouldn’t have deigned to take a hit from magic. With armor like yours… Linhardt is far more resistant.”

“Linhardt would have _died_ , Hubert, you know this as well as I. Caspar is already upset enough – the guilt he feels is enough for twenty men. With Linhardt out of commission, our healers are struggling more than ever with the load. Everyone else, even our own professor, has woken up thus far. Manuela believes that Linhardt will wake up in the next day or so, and I certainly hope that to be true if only so Caspar stops looking like he’s the one who tried to kill him-”

“I believe I asked about _your_ welfare. Do us all a favor and stop deflecting.”

A beat of silence filled the air before Ferdinand gave another sigh, shaking his head slightly.

“It felt like… like I was being fried alive. I could barely breathe for a few moments. Thinking back on it, I was likely trembling a great deal. Even now, I feel like I am…

“Manuela informed me when I woke up earlier today that my undershirt had burned into my back. She assured me that she had made sure to administer an elixir and had spent her precious energy healing me in order to ensure that there was no internal damage, but warned that I may keep an irregular heartbeat for a day or so more. All that is left is for the remaining external burn to heal… she claimed that I was quite lucky, should I have been facing the enemy, the magic would have likely struck right at my heart.”

“You _fool_ … taking a Thoron to the heart while that close? You would have died instantly. Where would this bumbling group _be_ without your incessant optimism?”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand turned around as the other tied off the braid, resting one hand over Hubert’s own, “I am alive. I am just as well as ever, given the circumstances. I assure you, there is nothing I need right now other than the company of my closest companion and, perhaps, a warm cup of tea.”

“And a fresh set of bandages,” Hubert reminded as he set the brush down, standing. “I’ll fetch a healer to-“

Alarmed, Ferdinand grabbed his wrist, sudden. “No – I, what I mean to say is… You have showed me your vulnerabilities. Allow me to show you my own.”

It was obvious, after all, how exposed Hubert felt when it came to baring his own fragilities. Just as their gifts of tea and coffee had been mutual, their scars would be too.

With bated breath, Hubert undid Manuela’s neat handiwork. Even after the dressings were gone, he allowed Ferdinand’s raw back to breathe as he looked him over.

Spreading from the base of his neck to his right shoulder and down Ferdinand’s ribcage was an angry, weeping wound. It blistered and glistened in the dim lamplight of the room, still undeniably fresh. Hubert could have fit both of his hands within the area it encompassed, he realized, the thought sinking like poison in his stomach. Manuela was right: Ferdinand was lucky.

As his eyes drifted along it, they continued down, back to the tan skin that hadn’t been electrocuted beyond recognition. Ferdinand had plenty of scars, of course, he fought on the front lines. It was only natural, after all these years of battle. But still…

Looking closer, Hubert noticed more. All along his back, pale and stretched out with age, were clearly defined and uniform lines crossing over each other. Tentatively Hubert brushed his fingers along one, brow furrowed at the possibilities.

It elicited a shiver from Ferdinand, whose tone darkened with something akin to strain.

“It will likely scar. It will likely be an ugly one, vast as it is, but I suppose I would rather look at it than the ones it would be covering up.”

“They’re old,” Hubert stated simply, squinting as he thought. With the way they had stretched, they had to have happened before puberty. “What… _Who_ ,” he rephrased, a growl turning his words unbidden, “Who did this to you?”

“It does not matter.”

“Ferdinand, these are _whipping_ marks-”

“It does not _matter_. Not anymore. The perpetrator is locked away. He could not do any more of it even if he wanted to.”

At the tenseness in Ferdinand’s shoulders, Hubert decided that this was a topic to drop, for now. Certainly, in the future, this conversation would continue; right now there was no need to work Ferdinand up any further in such a delicate state.

Instead, he grabbed a concoction off of his desk, not meeting Ferdinand’s eyes, and applied it before going about the bandages. It was quiet in a comfortable, familiar way, even though the air was still charged with the implications of what Hubert had seen.

After a few bandages were in place, Hubert diligently working, Ferdinand spoke up again. This time, the words came softly, a little more unsure, a little more broken.

“It wasn’t a whip.”

Hubert hummed in response, not wishing to say something wrong.

“It was a loaded hunting crop.”

His hands stilled, but picked back up a second later. A picture was forming in his mind, and it was hardly pleasant.

“It, well, it had started as a simple riding crop, but after a while, Father realized that it wasn’t working well enough.”

The blood rushed to Hubert’s ears. _Focus on the bandages. Don’t scare him off now._

“Did, did you know that I have quite a few sisters? I have two younger sisters, Harleigh and Minna. There’s also Astrid, Erika, and Felicie, though Felicie is actually older than me by a few months. Ah, and I believe during the academy I gained a brother, Leonard. Of course, all but Harleigh and Minna are illegitimate children of my father. That is why I was informed to introduce myself, always, as the eldest _legitimate_ son of Duke Aegir. Goddess knows there may be even more out there…

“He would use riding crops to keep us in line. The bastard children were often either unseen and unheard or acting as servants to house Aegir to hide them from Mother. We needed to be proper, to be the very picture of an obedient noble child. Both Harleigh and I bore crests, so we needed to be even _more_ presentable.

“By the time I was seven, I had had enough of his treatment of my sisters. So I would, I would attempt to take their lashings. I believe that was when he started to swap out for his loaded hunting crop. It was… a lot heavier, a lot sturdier. As you can see, it left its marks on me… but not _one_ on any of my siblings.”

Despite the bitter, self-satisfied tone with which Ferdinand ended the last sentence, Hubert was still near deaf from the roaring in his ears. He could practically _feel_ his magic threatening to strike out at whatever was closest to the shamed duke. It all was making sense now, how dramatically Ferdinand would react to conversations about Duke Aegir, how he seemed to loathe the possibility that the man would one day visit Garreg Mach when they were students. He had been hurting the whole _time_ , and only _now_ was Hubert learning of it.

“When next in the capital, he will be dead by my hands.”

Ferdinand turned to him, eyes wet despite his smile, and slowly took Hubert’s hands in his, kissing over his knuckles, scarred and all. “Like I said: it is of no matter anymore. He’s on house arrest. These scars are just scars, Hubert. They will continue to fade in time, though they will linger. Once the war ends… maybe then, then we can stop thinking about our open wounds, and start thinking about our scars, Hubert. We can rebuild ourselves while we rebuild the empire.”

Letting out a breath through his nose, Hubert gave a sharp nod, finishing off the bandages and setting away the materials so that maybe, if they were lucky, they could get some sort of rest. The images of white lines and bloody burns still danced in the back of his mind, but that conversation was over for the night.

Still, as they lay together, careful not to press against any painful spots, Hubert could not help but consider the grief and shame that had been in Ferdinand’s eyes when he had finally looked at him.

Yes, after the war they would have time to talk about their scars.

But when the time comes, they wouldn’t be discussing their physical ones.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm real bad at endings so I'm never happy with them,,, but i hope this was alright enough! it's now one am so I must go perish in my bed,
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!! Please please leave kudos and comments!!! They mean the world to me!!
> 
> If the next ones are a little later than usual I'm so sorry I've just got to do a paper and a project and another exam and


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